“Summoned home?” Tyr had barely returned to Amistad to collect his things, and Okami, before returning to the hunt. Or rather, to find a way to kill the bastard. It had been a long flight, the manticore no longer intent on riding or walking. Rushing back in a panic, allowing him to feel all of it rolling through her at the advent of such a powerful animist. One with none of the purported ethical code of Solomon.
Tyr had expected things to play out so differently, daydreaming of an epic confrontation. It didn't matter if he won or lost, only that it would surely happen – but it hadn't. Thinking a loss improbable at worst due to the presence of Nala. She hadn't said much, just leaving as soon as Hastur had with the briefest apology. With the threat of a new master arriving so near her home in the mountains – she needed to see her remaining family away with all haste.
Alex nodded, handing him his communication amulet. “You should really refrain from leaving without this. Where were you, anyway? You disappeared for months, you've missed a lot of class but the headmaster said you can make them up. You can be all clandestine and dramatic, but based on his nonchalance I suspect you were on some mission for him?”
“I am leaving school.” Tyr said. “There is nothing more for me to learn here. With Abaddon sleeping, all I'd be doing is forging all day. Which is fine, but I have so much that I need to do.”
“And again, what is this task?” She asked. “Won't you share with me?”
“Indeed.” Sigi was glaring at him. “You show up here with some mysterious woman on your arm like that's normal. Did you find a new wife or mistress? You can do as you please, but we deserve to know.”
“No.” Tyr refuted her delusion. “First of all, Nala isn't a human. She's a chimera, a manticore to be precise. And... I was hunting Hastur. Killed him, too. Turns out he's immortal though. Sorry, I really can't stick around to talk.”
“...What did he just say?”
To be summoned home was an ill omen. Jartor didn't tend to make requests like that, and the journey back would take at least a week even if Okami could keep a consistent pace throughout the trip. But for now, there were things he needed to do. He checked what points he had remaining, of which there were a great deal more than expected, and ran to the academy merit exchange.
“What'll it be?” A lazy eyed clerk asked with a yawn. The shop for points and merits was a boring post, but it required very little work to oversee the utility section. The salary was also quite competitive to discourage any misappropriation of goods. Students always tried to bribe them to hold one or another unique artifact until such a time as they could properly afford it. Some things couldn't be exchanged for gold, even if you bought points with them.
“A lexicanum, please.”
“Classification?”
“Audible with storage capability.”
“Understood. That'll be six hundred and fifty points, and you have... Wow, three thousand two hundred and eleven? Not bad for a second year. Here you go. That leaves your available balance at--” A diamond shaped frame of steel the size of his fist appeared on the table. Swiped away, Tyr left as fast as he'd come. They were devices that could record, store and catalog the content of books, and given the proper functionality – one could interface with the artifact so as to allow the books to be 'read aloud' in the mind. A portable storage device not so dissimilar to a dimensional ring that nobody could access without his express permission.
Necessary considering the fact that reading from Okami's back would be near impossible. Hastur was, after all, clearly somewhat capable of using the same kind of magic Tyr did. Shaper magic. Which must mean that Solomon was some kind of pioneer among mortal men that could access it, however they did. Not the same as Tyr, but the result was the same. If answers to that and the other questions plaguing his mind could be found in the two additional black books he was given – it was important he absorb the knowledge as quickly as possible. Hastur was the enemy, his new target to give him some purpose in life, but he'd use anything he was provided with. Regardless of its origin.
A simple plan, that he'd begin enacting at once. That was, if he didn't find himself walking straight into the stone of a wall instead of through the door that had existed just a moment before. Slamming into it face first and feeling his nose crunch uncomfortable from the impact. “What in the hells?”
“Been a while.” Lernin cleared his throat. Announcing his presence and that of Kael taking his customary place beside him. Both men appeared calm, their hands held behind their backs. “Leaving so soon?”
“Naturally...? How and why am I here?” Tyr asked.
“I pulled you here through a gate. Isn't that obvious?”
“I guess it makes sense considering all of the classes you've missed. As proxy head of the disciplinary committee due to the injuries suffered by Professor Wilhelm in the most recent incidence, you're not permitted to leave. Starting today, I'll be taking over as your academic advisor in lieu of Abaddon. Questions?”
“Sure.” Tyr chuckled. Thinking about all the inconsistencies surrounding human magic to make such a thing possible. To pull him through a gate? No such thing had happened. He'd been plucked off his feet and deposited here via some other dimensional phenomena. If mages were capable of doing this, problems would be far easier to solve than they were. 'Teleportation' wasn't a proper word, but it'd be nice if Tyr could pull someone onto his sword rather than chasing him down, too bad it was a little more complex than that. “First question, really the only important one. Do you think you can stop me?”
“An odd question.” Lernin replied, a confused look on his face. “Of course we can. Your father himself signed the contract that enrolls you in this academy. With a more recent addendum that we have full right to detain you when necessary. You'll understand that when a primus demands I take responsibility, that I will without hesitation, yes?”
“He summoned me back to Haran.”
“Ah. Well... I'll be candid when I say that it would have been nice to know that. In advance... After concluding your business with him, you'll return?” Lernin was a strict but fair man. The problem in handling Tyr was that he wasn't like Iscari. He did whatever he wanted. Ignoring the rules, and somehow convincing his professors and staff around him to let him get away with it. Either by status or other means. Otherwise, his 'unlimited free refills' on food would have been impossible – for example.
Lernin wasn't sure if Tyr was a master manipulator, or just lucky. In any event, he had been providing weekly reports to the Harani court about the prince's behavior, accomplishments, good and not so good. Typically it was a well dressed imperial duke, an obscenely corpulent man that called himself 'Don Houseless'. But the most recent report was received by Jartor himself, appearing for the first time, and he was not pleased in the slightest.
“No. I will return to my hunt for Hastur.”
Lernin and Kael alike raised their eyebrows in surprise. “Return to your hunt? Meaning...? Is that where you've been?”
Tyr nodded. “Yes, I found him but he managed to get away.”
“Why doesn't anyone tell me these things...” Lernin sighed, knowing full well that Tyr wouldn't respond to his rhetorical question. He'd been so busy in recent months, trying and failing to track the boy down. Losing track of a primus wasn't exactly a good omen for his academy. “Got away is an interesting choice of words, but useful...” He rubbed at his chin pensively, pacing back to his desk and tiredly taking a seat. Anyone could see that the weight of the world sat heavy on the headmasters shoulders.
“Forgive me, I'm tired. Elaborate on your interaction with my father. Starting with his capabilities, disposition, location, and his reason for being there.”
“Everyone's got problems, old man.” Tyr replied. “But sure, and then I leave. I won't be returning, you can take what you need to out of my account to handle the cost of moving my possessions back to the estate. There isn't much I don't carry on my person, so it should be easy.”
“Not returning?” Kael pursed his lips. Dismissal from the academy was serious, but in many ways, dropping out was even more so. A normal student would've gotten the boot long ago if they'd behaved as Tyr had, but willfully choosing to leave... “Dropping out before the semester is finished is a grave dishonor both to you and your house. Why?”
“Because of this.” Tyr replied with complete honesty, donning his spellbreakers and allowing all eight elements to manifest independently in faint balls of their respective mana. Fire, earth, water, air, anima, space, dark and light.
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“Holy hells...” Lernin was breathless. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been disappointed at Tyr's performance – or lack thereof. Runesmithing was a talent, but with the reputation given the vocation it only added to the disappointment, many felt that his passions should be aimed elsewhere. At no point had the boy betrayed such impossible talent for magic, octa casting. Not just octa casting, but the manifestation of all elements in their purest reactive state – and silently.
Really just a light show. None of the mana comprising the orbs was impressive in any way, shape, or form – individually. But together, all at once, erupting from his fingertips... That was incredible. Should even be impossible, but Lernin had seen things in his time. Abaddon had shown him little, but it was enough to know that humanity was far behind in terms of their understanding of how universal forces like this worked. Even after all these years, it was so hard to believe how little they'd actually achieved. Millennia had passed and if he didn't know better, he'd think something was holding them back from progressing further.
It took great men, often lunatic levels of genius and all sorts of psychosis to push them forward. But now, despite their best efforts, academia remained stagnant for centuries. Theory and new ways to understand mana surfaced all the time, but making practical use of theory was easier said than done.
“What is this?” Kael asked, amazed. They both loved magic, but Kael loved it, not for the science, but for the wonder and mystery. It had been his only only muse in life. It had risen him up from common birth, and with it he commanded more respect than any noble. Made him strong. An archmage and one of the best battlemages in the current era. “How is this? Have you been hiding this talent all along, and if so, why?”
“I'm not talented.” Tyr replied, voice thick with self deprecation. “It's got its perks I guess but what does it matter if I can light eight candles at once with individual spells? No matter how hard I try, I can't break into the level three standard consistently. That's my limit. This is nothing. I can also do this.” He split the balls twice. Eight became sixteen and sixteen became thirty two.
“W-what!?” Lernin paled in the face, looking near to the point of spitting blood. His body grew limp, the sensation in his feet dimming, staring at the miracle in front of him. “What the hell is that!? Oi, oi, oi... What kind of idiot tutors have you had all your life!? What kind of morons are we hiring!?”
“I can only do it with these gauntlets. Without them, I can't summon the initial eight. Ask Abaddon, he's the one who put all of the effort in to make this possible in the first place.”
“...”
“Suddenly, this makes sense to me. Still... Lernin? What is that? Triginta... Duo casting? Is that even a word – or a thing?” Like a magic exhibition. It had no practical use whatsoever other than to show control capabilities. A focus, which must be what the gauntlets were, should not allow such a thing – no matter how powerful. Foci made things easier but rarely subverted the ceiling of what a mage was able to do.
The problem were the mana circuits present in the human body. They had a limit, one that could not be surpassed through any external item or force, only stabilized. An archmage could quinta cast at best. There had only been one known hexa caster in all of the combined history of their race. And Abaddon had seen this tremendous ability, doing nothing about it. But nobody knew who or what Abaddon actually was. Some had fancied him a god made flesh at one time, before dogma and superstition had fallen out of favor with the magical community.
Tyr was capable of doing the impossible. Feats they'd only seen performed by a single pair of hands. Octavian could hexa cast, and was considered a veritable god among mages, but he was a primus. Not a human in the strictest sense, thus it didn't count. To manifest thirty two individual phenomena with no array binding them all together was... Kael believed in gods again, for the briefest of moments. But Tyr was no god. He was an uneducated and petulant child with a poor teacher, ignorant to the significance of his power.
How far could a talent like this take us...? Lernin was right. Had to have been. Octo casting, that enchantment. That Varian Prince can say what he wants but I know a spell when I see it. The primus of magic, and first of his kind. He had to be.
An archmage like himself could achieve a similar feat through focus and determination. Preparing and casting time-delayed spells to all take root in the atmosphere at the same time. Or by saving spells in a focus and activating them all at once. This was completely different. Octo casting was something out of the legends and tales of the clergy, but thirty two was truly divine. Ensuring that if Tyr had the power necessary, he should be able to cast eight spells at once, and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for him to weave a spell comprised of all elements together. Through use of metamagic, there was no limit as long as it was stable. What form would every element at once take? He had so many questions.
Imagine a man who had never seen magic before, being shown it for the first time. It'd be just that, magic. Magic in Kael's world was just the science and study of the mana phenomena. The proverbial frog in the well. Or a guppy that thought itself the biggest fish in the pond only to be introduced to the ocean. Coming face to face with a very naive and psychologically unbalanced shark.
Tyr squinted his eyes. He could feel something blossoming inside of him, like a gate popping open. A warmth that he'd only felt a few times in his life. Through effort, thirty two became sixty four. Sixty four individual spells, with no loss of control or bleeding of mana. Forming an octagonal sphere that spun inches about his hand in a ball of dazzling light.
This time, Lernin really did spit blood. Biting his cheek so hard when the clenching of his teeth. He was dizzy, near the point of fainting. Everything he had known about mana was a complete and utter lie, his worldview shattering before his very eyes.
Hmm... Tyr couldn't explain it. He'd done nothing, and yet he'd grown 'stronger'. Not in terms of power, but he was just suddenly better... In a way he couldn't possibly explain, manipulating the sphere to fill the room. All around him were orbs of elemental mana, glistening like stars. “Is this really that impressive?” He asked.
Kael steadied his oldest friend with a hand. “Yes.” Back in their own days in the academy, they'd felt like unparalleled talents, so high strung and arrogant. It hadn't always been that way. Kael had been rated as a C rank student but had progressed fiercely, hitting his apex and 'wall' all mages hit in his time as an adventurer. Unable to progress further, he'd lost his passion and begun to stagnate as they all did. Taking an easy job and growing complacent, losing the fire but not his love of magic.
“This is not human magic.” He concluded. It couldn't be. Kael was no diviner, but he was capable of sensing mana as all competent mages were. Tyr was a ball of it now, glowing like a sun compared to the dull light the professors had felt in him so recently. Mana incarnate, it was hard to look at him without feeling some discomfort or pain. If Tyr could combine even half of this theoretical power into a real spell, he could destroy cities. Lay waste to nations. Slay beyond counting. It fell completely outside the understood system of magic. No level could be assigned to this, because it wasn't human in nature.
Modern magic wasn't usually 'smash as many elements together as you can', but if constructed properly a phenomena could become many times greater than the sum of its parts. Utilizing reactions, compressing force to generate combustion denser than the atmosphere allowed. It wouldn't even take that much effort on his part, Lernin was sure he could design an array with the other professors that would collect all this mana and use it with no spell necessary from the boy. It was terrifying, each 'mote' of mana was a level one spell equivalent. The bare minimum, but considering the exponential growth that came through proper metamagic if that was extrapolated sixty four times...
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.” Tyr replied. He'd hold the true concept of spira close to his heart, but Abaddon had never mentioned a need to keep this a secret. So, he told them. “It's called shaper magic, and this is its purest form. I've no idea what a shaper is, though.”
With the blend of mana and spira weaved imperfectly together, with a little more control he was sure he could summon hundreds more. Maybe thousands, he felt no ceiling, but it also wasn't impressive at all. What use did raw elements have? He could slam these point blank into even the weakest mana barrier as many times as he wanted to and it'd never break.
“Shapers...” Lernin felt an oncoming migraine, pinching at the bridge of his aquiline nose to keep it at bay. He felt like at any moment his hair might gray and he'd age decades what with all the questions and anxieties boiling up inside of him. Tyr was already this advanced and he hadn't even completed his lessons. Control, that which he needed to actually use this magic of his, was easily something that could be taught through the slightest variation in his instruction. Giving rise to potentially the most powerful mage of all time. He couldn't be allowed to leave, for many reasons. “Solomon was a shaper. Ellemar too. As well as Landris and Veda, Altrimar, Helen. That's what they called themselves.”
Tyr still wanted to leave, wondering why they were holding him up to talk about the authors of black books. Who cared?